


What matters

by mad2Bhere



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Post-Blind Betrayal, Sad with a Happy Ending, condoms did not survive the nuclear war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 11:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14104683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad2Bhere/pseuds/mad2Bhere
Summary: Nathaniel fights for people, not ideals, and that's what makes him dangerous for every organization that takes him in.





	What matters

He won't be a burden.

That's all he thinks about, all he allows himself to think about.

He won't be a burden. Won't be a liability.

In that case he can't afford to hesitate. Can't even think about it. And why should he? It's nothing he hasn't done before. All he needs to do is tell friend from foe. The man wearing mismatched armor is his comrade, and the people in power armor are enemies. Vertibirds are targets. Easy. He knows their tactics, knows their weak spots.

Easy. He can do this.

As long as he doesn't look at their faces.

"Are you alright?"

He's not. Hasn't been for weeks, but he'll be damned if he lets that show.

Focus on the objective. Make sure the enemies are dead, then loot the corpses. One of them is still twitching – a shot between the eyes takes care of that. Then he is free to recover weapons, armor, medicine. He knows where they keep their supplies.

He can do this. His hands are not shaking. He will do this.

"Danse?"

That's not his name, no matter how familiar it sounds. He wonders who came up with it.

Sometimes he thinks it would be easier if Nathaniel used his actual name. If he called him by his serial number, treated him like the expendable tool he is. The reassuring truth is that if the weapon he calls Danse gets destroyed, he can probably find a newer, better model somewhere.

"I'm fine. Just a flesh wound."

If he even has flesh. Back in the Brotherhood he passed all medical tests, bled like a human when he was injured, so the stuff that makes up his body has to be mostly organic. He doesn't know for sure, doesn't know who to ask.

He only knows that he hates it.

 

 

\-----------------

 

 

Another thing Danse hates is the other synth.

The one who's so obviously manufactured anyone can see the wires through the hole in his throat. It claims not to work for the Institute any longer, that it's been discarded, that it doesn't remember anything, but there's no way of knowing for sure until someone cracks its skull open and accesses the data hidden in its plastic brain.

Danse hates that it can get on the Prydwen with Nathaniel, hates that no one even thinks about shooting it. He hates that Nathaniel frequently leaves him behind in favor of this half broken machine.

He hates that he can't simply tear the skin off his face and arm and hope to receive the same indulgences.

 

 

\--------------------

 

 

One day Nathaniel is going to realize that Danse is not worth it. That is the only rational thing to do. Whenever they are seen together, the Brotherhood soldiers who spot them treat Nathaniel like an enemy. The constant fighting slows him down, and the lack of resources is getting to him. While they're together he can't go anywhere near Cambridge or the airport.

Danse is not sure why Nathaniel keeps him around at all. Eventually he has to figure out that he is wasting his time.

He'll probably be nice about it, though. He always is, about everything. He won't simply send him off to his bunker and forget about him. He'll give Danse a few supplies, enough to get him across the border, might even accompany him part of the way. Too kind for his own good.

But for now Nathaniel is still smiling reassuringly at him, still wears Danse's tags around his neck. Perhaps he recognizes the significance of that gesture, perhaps he doesn't. He hasn't been with the Brotherhood long enough to learn about these little unofficial traditions, but perhaps there was something similar back before the war.

In the Brotherhood some people wear the tags of their fallen lovers or spouses. Danse didn't think someone would ever do that for him. The sight never fails to steal his breath, even though he has no idea what this means to Nathaniel.

They don't talk about it.

 

 

\------------------

 

 

When Nathaniel first flirted with him all those months ago, Danse was so surprised he barely managed to stammer his way through the rest of the conversation. He had always seen himself as a soldier first and a man second, and while he wouldn't have been opposed to getting intimate with his comrades, he hadn't seen a reason to actively try and start anything. As a result Nathaniel's interest in him was surprising, but not unwelcome.

And it really got him thinking.

He couldn't admit it to himself back then. Even now it feels shameful to acknowledge how quickly he started clinging to the idea of companionship.

He knew it wouldn't be easy. Nathaniel was a capable soldier, even if his morals sometimes tended to get in the way of his missions – and he had a son. A son he intended to raise once he'd gotten him back from his kidnappers, and that made things difficult. Danse isn't good with children, never saw himself as a father. And no one asked him to be, certainly not Nathaniel. The flirting didn't even have to mean anything. Perhaps he was just trying to throw Danse off by making a joke. And yet...

He could teach Shaun how to shoot. If the boy became a Squire – which he should, considering his father was a Knight – his instructors would look after him while he and Nathaniel were out on missions. Whenever they returned to the Prydwen the boy would be waiting for them. They could be...

Family. Yes, that was what he thought. His mind had jumped straight past romance and sex and skipped ahead to the sappiest, most domestic happily-ever-after he could come up with. He was that pathetic.

Ever since he came back from the Institute, Nathaniel hasn't talked about Shaun even once. It's a sensitive topic so Danse didn't think it was his place to ask, but eventually he can't bear it anymore.

"You never told me whether you did find Shaun."

"It's... complicated."

"Is he safe?"

"I... yes, I suppose he is. I just don't know how to get him out of there."

"You're not going to give up on him, are you?"

"No. Never."

 

 

\-----------------------

 

 

When it comes to battle, Nathaniel is flexible. If he has to, he is quick to disregard everything the army ever taught him about proper battle tactics to take his foe down with a shotgun blast to the face. He is a force to be reckoned with, with or without his power armor.

He's not used to fighting with others, though. Danse frequently loses sight of him during combat and only finds him afterwards, either rifling through the corpses' possessions or lying in a pool of his own blood, looking up at Danse with dark, unfocused eyes. He is good, but not that good.

The Wasteland left its mark on him, so much so that Danse sometimes has trouble remembering what he used to look like when they met in Cambridge all those months ago. Now his face is littered with scars, an uneven piece of patchwork that can be frightening to look at. He was handsome once; now he looks like a raider.

They spend the night in Covenant not because it is the closest settlement, but because Nathaniel claims it's a place where they can both get some sleep without one of them being saddled with guard duty. Danse heard the place was deserted, but seeing it with his own eyes is still a shock. The corpse of the mayor is draped over a pristine white picket fence, and the corn and tatoes grow around the lifeless body of a woman wearing a doctor's coat. But that's not what has Danse nearly speechless.

"Is this what it was like everywhere? Before the bombs?"

"Not quite. We didn't have the walls and the turrets, but I guess it's as similar as it gets these days."

"Would you like to live here once you get Shaun back?"

Danse can see it. They could turn this into a Minutemen settlement, lure people here with the promise of safety and food. Nathaniel would take the mayor's house for himself, once they've dragged a second bed for his son in there. Danse could play ball with Shaun in the garden and –

And he really needs to stop doing that. Getting lost in his own head like that. Daydreaming about things that should never, ever be his.

"...I don't think Shaun would like that."

Seeing the look on Nathaniel's face, Danse wishes he hadn't said anything.

 

 

\-----------------------

 

 

They talked about it only once, immediately after Nathaniel returned from the Prydwen with both Danse's armor and his rank. At some point they lost the thread of the conversation; in the beginning it was about Danse, about all the things he barely knew how to put into words – then suddenly it was about them.

'More than friends', Nathaniel said, and Danse would have killed to hear those words a few weeks, or even just a few days earlier. Then he might have found the courage to tell his comrade what he wanted their lives to be like, to share at least part of his embarrassing fantasies and see if they might find common ground somewhere.

Now he can't say any of that. He has nothing to offer Nathaniel and his son: He is a fugitive, on the run from the Brotherhood, and he will spend the rest of his life hiding from his former comrades until they eventually bring him down. He will help Nathaniel save his son because that's what he promised – but after that he'll do the decent thing and head out on his own. He won't put them in danger, not if he can help it.

There was one kiss, right before they left the bunker together. Or maybe there wasn't; Danse isn't sure whether it counts. He thought he saw something in Nathaniel's eyes and bent down without thinking, so he could easily reach his face if he wanted to. Just in case. And the newly-promoted Paladin rested both hands on his cheeks and pulled him further towards him – and Danse followed, follows, will always follow, no matter what this man does – and kissed his forehead.

It was nice. It was just what he needed at the time – proof that he wasn't alone, that there was someone who cared about him. It was not enough.

He remembers gripping Nathaniel's arm, remembers pulling him closer even though he couldn't even feel him through his power armor. He remembers how his lips felt on his skin, how Nathaniel smelled his hair. It will never be enough, and he doesn't know how to ask for more.

Tonight might be a good opportunity. They can trust Covenant's turrets to wake them up in case anything tries to attack and just rest for once. Or maybe they could do... something else.

Unfortunately there are more than enough beds and the night is unusually warm – there is absolutely no logical reason why they should share a bed. Whatever happens tonight won't develop naturally; Danse will have to find some way to ask for it.

Well before he manages to make up his mind, Nathaniel sits down on the bed.

"Come here", he says, and Danse goes without thinking.

Danse doesn't know everything, but he knows enough to come up with some halfway plausible assumptions about himself. He knows the Institute creates its synths fully-grown, which means his whole childhood is a lie. There are other inconsistencies – people who should've known him but didn't, places he remembered all wrong. If he takes the time to pick his life apart and sort the pieces into categories of 'true', 'false' and 'probable', he can come up with a rough timeline for himself.

So he knows this is his first real kiss. He knows this is the first time someone touches him while he's not wearing power armor outside of a medical examination. The first time someone looks at him like this.

Despite the warmth he's shivering, draws closer to Nathaniel until the other man chuckles softly. Slightly embarrassed Danse draws back, but Nathaniel pulls him back again.

It feels different than he imagined. Even the smallest touches are a lot more intense than his manufactured memories led him to believe. Lips on his earlobe make him squirm, a hand on his lower back makes him feel terribly vulnerable even though they are both fully dressed. Another person's tongue in his mouth is just so... warm. And wet. It feels incredibly obscene. 

He's not sure what to do with his hands. They rest awkwardly on Nathaniel's shoulders, but that doesn't feel right somehow. He wants to reciprocate without being pushy but has no idea how to accomplish that.

This man is his only ally, the only one he can trust. The only one who wanted him. If he screws this up, if he loses Nathaniel, he will have nothing left, and he's not ready for that.

It could have been so nice. He wanted to be around when Nathaniel got his own squad, see what kind of leader he would become. They could have helped each other, exchanged ideas, shared advice. If they had been lucky they would have been sent on the same missions. And Shaun. They would have –

It's not as if he doesn't want this. He just hoped it could be so much more.

"Come here", Nathaniel repeats and scoots back further on the bed.

They end up pressed chest-to-chest, but Danse still feels like he's about to fall off the bed. They keep shifting until they both find a semi-comfortable position, which takes them a few minutes. After that Nathaniel appears to be in no hurry to take things further: He strokes Danse's hair, kisses his face and neck, but his hands stay firmly above his waist.

He's nice. Nicer than Danse deserves. They did agree to take things slow, but –

"I want you."

The words fall easily from his lips, even though he was agonizing over them earlier. The silence that follows is more difficult to bear. Then Nathaniel leans down to kiss him, and he relaxes once more. That's something he could quickly get addicted to: Hands framing his face to hold him in place as another man's lips descend on his, soft but firm. Grounding.

After that there is no more talking. There is some more kissing, though, and before long Nathaniel starts to get him out of his clothes. Danse doesn't help him, doesn't think he should; he remembers his first time touching a gen-3 synth (or what he assumes to be his first time), remembers the slight pulse of revulsion that went through him even though (or perhaps because) its skin felt so real. It was not the sensation itself, but rather the knowledge that there was something that shouldn't bleed, shouldn't breathe, shouldn't be able to be so damn convincing.  He is not sure how Nathaniel can stand it. He is efficient at stripping Danse, runs his fingers over his chest, his stomach, his arms, his thighs, everywhere. Like he's not disgusted at all.

Once Nathaniel discovers his cock Danse realizes that his fake memories can't really compare to the reality of a rough, calloused hand stroking him. His body knows the truth, even if his brain insists otherwise.

Why would anyone build a machine that can experience pleasure? Why bother making it crave human contact? Everything would be so much easier if that part of him didn't exist.

He wants to reciprocate, but all he can do is  hold on to Nathaniel's shoulders as he thrusts forward into his hand. His comrade seems to find that amusing; the more eager Danse acts, the less active he becomes. Before long his fingers rest utterly motionless on his thigh while Danse humps him shamefully.

Everything else fades into the background, and for a second he forgets that he's not real.

Then Nathaniel pulls away and Danse withdraws uncertainly. It takes Nathaniel a while to remove his own clothes – there are more layers, a lot more buckles and straps and buttons to undo. Danse tries not to stare, looks away every other second. He is not surprised Nathaniel's body looks similar to his face: Broken and stitched back together, covered in scars both old and new. He doesn't rely on stims if he doesn't have to, and this is the result. Danse has his own share of near-death experiences, but they didn't leave him like that. Then again, he did have the Brotherhood's support for most of them... or perhaps he's just more durable than an actual person.

All Danse can do is nod eagerly to the hand on his ass and the silent question in Nathaniel's eyes. Yes, he wants this, wants everything Nathaniel will give him. Once again they have to change positions. At his own insistence Danse ends up on his back; he wants to see Nathaniel's face for this. Wants to keep kissing, even if he won't say as much.

Instead of a pair of lips he gets two fingers to suck on. He makes them as wet as he can, licks and swirls his tongue. He feels horribly exposed like this – naked, with his legs in the air, his cock pointing imploringly at his lover's face.

His lover. They are lovers. They love each other. Who would have thought.

It helps that Nathaniel looks nearly as surprised as he feels, like he can't believe they ended up here together. Like this is special for him as well.

Then there are wet fingers teasing him open. This is definitely new – no one gave him any memories of this. He has to force himself to stay still and just let Nathaniel stretch him. The sensation itself is not particularly good or bad, just... overwhelming.

He wasn't created for this, was never supposed to experience this. Or at least he sincerely hopes he wasn't. Does the Institute create synths to use them as sex objects? What was his original purpose?

(And what is his new purpose? If he was allowed to choose he would want it to be whatever Nathaniel needs him for, rather than what he is actually doing. He doesn't want to be a machine who kills innocent people just to stay alive. He wants more. He wants to be wanted. He wants – )

After some more shifting Nathaniel is kneeling between his legs with one of Danse's legs resting on his shoulder. It's not a position he'll be able to hold for very long; already his muscles are protesting the unfamiliar strain. This would be easier if he were on his hands and knees, but the slight sting is definitely worth it to see the expression on Nathaniel's face.

His smile is genuine but brittle. His eyes keep moving, jumping from one part of Danse to another every other second. He looks nervous, and for a while they just watch each other.

Then Nathaniel moves in, and Danse braces himself for what comes next.

The pain is nothing he can't handle, and Nathaniel strokes him through it. What really throws him off is the heat, the surreal sensation of another person inside him. It's both better and worse than just fingers; better because it's bigger, longer, warmer, and worse for all the same reasons. It's just... a lot to take in.

Once he manages to relax and accept the feeling his body adjusts somewhat, and before long he tries bucking back against his thrusts. They find a rhythm eventually, slow and deep, good enough to drag soft gasps from Nathaniel's throat. He has no words for this feeling – he is glad he doesn't have any fake images in his head to compare this to, only the real thing. It's intense in a way he couldn't possibly anticipate. Visceral. Connecting. Intimate.

He wants to stay mostly quiet, but he can't suppress a breathless moan as Nathaniel strokes him just so. He is rewarded with a kiss on the side of his nose – an accident that occurred because Danse moved at the wrong moment, but a good one since it gets a breathless laugh out of his lover. Then he gets a proper kiss that is no less awkward; they are both panting into each other's mouth, barely manage to breath around each other's tongues, and it's just – 

It's messy and perfect and weird and too much and not enough and everything at once. All he can do is hold on to Nathaniel and let this man undo him. He's not sure how long it lasts, only that it's not nearly long enough, and the combined assault on his cock and his prostrate finishes him quickly.

That's one of the few things he actually remembers. He knows he has experienced orgasms before – either in the semi-privacy of his quarters or sometimes out in the field in a moment of weakness – but always alone, always by his own hand. He remembers it as a slow and steady climb of arousal, predictable and familiar. He also remembers the aftermath, the peculiar mix of shame and disappointment. This one kind of sneaks up on him, takes him by surprise and leaves his head blissfully empty. He's still somewhat out of it when his lover buries his face in his shoulder and spills inside him.

For the first time he is glad – actually glad – that Nathaniel didn't scatter his brain all over the bunker's walls.

 

 

\---------------------

 

 

"Danse? Are you awake?"

It takes a surprisingly long time to remember where he is; the feeling of another body next to him is so unfamiliar that it feels jarring. He is not sure how he managed to fall asleep in the first place, with his left arm trapped and numb beneath Nathaniel and their legs tangled together. His thighs feel sticky, just like the mattress they are lying on.

"What is it?"

For a while all he can hear is the wind outside, blending nearly seamlessly into the soft whirring of the turrets. Everything seems calm outside, but there could still be hostiles outside. His power armor stands by the door – almost too far away in case of an attack. A bad decision on his part. What compelled him to do that?

(The question is entirely rhetorical, of course. He did it because all he was thinking about at the time was what he and Nathaniel could do together if there were less layers between them. He is not displeased by the outcome, but it was still a foolish idea.)

"Maxson wants me to destroy the Institute."

Well, obviously. That was what they came for. Why they built Liberty Prime. They should be almost ready now, and naturally Nathaniel will be expected to participate. This will be his chance to redeem himself in Maxson's eyes, to erase the stain of failing to kill Danse.

And he will have to do it soon. Nathaniel has gotten in and out of the Institute multiple times now, but even if the scientists don't consider him a threat yet they have him under surveillance. Sometimes he comes back with a runner tailing him. Before they decide to eliminate him, he will have to –

Ah, but Shaun.

"Then we'll need to get your son out of there."

It won't be easy, of course. It will probably be close to impossible – if it were anything less, Nathaniel would have done it on his own already. He didn't drag himself all the way across the Commonwealth just to give up this close to his goal.

"I can't. He won't come with me."

"We'll take him anyway, with or without his consent. You're his father, you have that right."

Nathaniel chuckles softly. He shifts ever so slightly to pull out his arm from where it's trapped between their chests and starts stroking Danse's hair. He's humoring him.

"You could use me."

He doesn't have a real plan yet, but between the two of them they should be able to come up with something. Perhaps this is where his real identity will actually be an asset for Nathaniel rather than a liability.

"You could bring me in saying I'm an escaped synth you reclaimed. I'm trained in infiltration, I could scout the place for you. I might be able to –"

"No, that definitely won't work."

Then Nathaniel starts talking about recall codes, about the Institute just... resetting him. Reprogramming him with little to no effort. Destroying his identity, or at least what he thought was his identity. Turning him against Nathaniel.

So Maxson was right after all. He's a liability, a veritable time bomb. A danger to anyone who associates with him. A disaster waiting to happen. Eliminating him is the only rational choice. He has no right to be here with the man he loves.

To call that thought horrifying is not nearly enough. It feels like sitting in the bunker again, waiting for a bullet in the back of his skull that just won't come. Nathaniel made the wrong choice, Danse knew it then and he knows it now, and once again he isn't strong enough to insist.

All he wants to do is help this man.

"Then how should we proceed?"

Danse doesn't have enough information to come up with anything else, doesn't know (doesn't remember) what the Institute looks like on the inside. If they want to get anywhere Nathaniel will have to help him.

He can feel the other man's sigh – a long, heavy exhale against Danse's hair.

"There are some things I could do to help Shaun, but... I don't know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up. Let's stop talking about it."

Danse stays quiet, but sleep eludes him after that.

 

 

\------------------------

 

 

A few hours later, shortly after sunrise, Nathaniel leaves. On his own. Without Danse. With no explanation.

That in itself is nothing unusual, especially not now that there are dozens of places in the Commonwealth Danse can't go without getting shot at. But after last night it stings; he thought – he doesn't know what he thought.

He offers to go back to the bunker. That's the safe choice. If he stayed at a settlement his mere presence would put everyone there at risk. The last thing he wants is to be responsible for an all-out war between the Brotherhood and the Minutemen. He can't be around people anymore.

But Nathaniel offers him Covenant, a whole fortified settlement all for himself, and that's that.

Their farewell is brief, just like every other time, and yet it feels... different somehow. Nathaniel doesn't have that unsettling gleam in his eyes he has when he steels himself for a particularly challenging mission, so it's safe to assume he hasn't made up his mind about saving Shaun and attacking the Institute.

So why does this feel like a turning point?

"Promise you'll come back to me."

One last kiss and Nathaniel is off.

And Danse waits.

He can keep himself occupied for about three days – maintaining his armor, taking care of the tatoes, clearing out the corpses, rifling through the houses for ammo and medicine. Then the hours start dragging, and after a week he starts fretting.

This is the longest they've been apart ever since he took Nathaniel to the Prydwen for the very first time.

A radio in one of the buildings is his sole connection to his lover. Apparently there's been a massive firefight near Bunker Hill between the Institute, the Railroad and the Brotherhood. There's no question of whether Nathaniel was involved in some way – only on which side he was forced to fight. Probably the one that won. Unfortunately that's one of the many things Travis doesn't know, so Danse has to keep wondering. Nathaniel has connections to all three groups, fought with and against them all at some point. Maxson would be foolish not to question his loyalty.

"I'd do anything to save my son."

That's what he said at first, but soon he will have to choose a side. The right one. He has to choose the Brotherhood, even if that thought leaves a bitter taste in Danse's mouth.

One more week passes, and the radio repeats nothing but old news and even older songs.

The tatoes and corn are resilient and require very little attention from him, and a rifle can only be cleaned so many times. He is almost relieved when the vertibird shows up.

Once that's taken care of, Danse recovers the fallen's holotags. He has some routine with that task now: He makes sure everyone is well and truly dead before he approaches, doesn't look at names or faces. He has this horrible fear of coming across Haylen or Rhys one of these days, and he's not sure what he would do then. Killing people he only met in passing is one thing – a gruesome, nightmarish thing – but the last members of his squad? If he has to choose which life is worth protecting, his own or theirs, how will he decide? Without Nathaniel by his side it's surprisingly hard to answer that question.

Nathaniel, who hasn't come back in three weeks.

Then one morning there is a new story on the radio, and with that the whole Commonwealth knows who and what Nathaniel is fighting for.

 

 

\-----------------------

 

 

He returns in the middle of the night. Danse doesn't spot him until he's nearly in front of the gate; the darkness swallows him in his black Silver Shroud coat. An odd choice: The Shroud is his direct opposite, the dark enforcer who fights for an abstract concept like justice and leaves nothing but corpses in his wake. Nathaniel fights for people, not ideals, and that's what makes him dangerous for every organization that takes him in. Two have made the mistake of trusting him when they shouldn't, and the balance of power in the Commonwealth has shifted over night.

He doesn't come alone, though.

There isn't much of a resemblance Danse can see – the hair color is different but not by much, which could be a mere coincidence – but seeing Nathaniel with a ten-year-old in tow immediately leads him to one particular conclusion.

"Is that...?"

Nathaniel can't seem to find the words to either confirm or deny, looks alternately at Danse and at the house behind him. Never at the boy standing right next to him. In the end his introduction is brief.

"Danse, this is Shaun. Shaun, this is Danse, my... my partner."

A vague way to describe their relationship that leaves much room for interpretation. That's a conversation for later; right now he has more pressing questions.

"But how did you – ?"

The Institute went up in flames, destroyed by Liberty Prime. Danse didn't think he'd have time to go in and grab Shaun.

Nathaniel shakes his head, once, twice. Can't seem to stop.

"Didn't. Wasn't me. Someone... someone else got him out and gave him to me. I can't leave him."

"Of course not. He's your son."

Nathaniel opens his mouth to reply, but seems to think better of it and closes it again. Instead he pats Shaun's shoulder twice. Then his hand falls back to his side.

He looks so lost all of a sudden.

Danse figured the final battle would leave him somewhat rattled – he has always held strange ideas about synths, has sympathized with their plight. He probably viewed destroying the Institute as killing innocents rather than destroying the scourge of mankind. This requires a more delicate touch than Danse can provide.

"You must be tired. Why don't you come in and sit down for a minute?"

Shaun at least seems happy by that prospect, but while Nathaniel does come in he quickly wanders back outside. For the first time in his life Danse finds himself alone with a child, and even though he has been fantasizing about this scenario he has absolutely no idea what to do with Shaun now that he is here. At a loss he hands him a tato and shows him a bed he can use. Then he takes a spot by the door and watches awkwardly as the boy eats. They hardly talk.

Eventually Shaun lies down. Danse waits a few more minutes, then goes to join Nathaniel on the porch.

"I let him die."

From up close Nathaniel doesn't look exhausted, he looks dead on his feet. Danse knows that expression on his face, has seen it before, had to deal with it once. It feels like a lifetime ago. Comforting Haylen was hard – he had no idea what he was doing at the time – but at least he had an idea exactly what got her so upset. With Nathaniel it's different; he can only ever use the snippets Nathaniel gives him.

"You did what you thought was best at the time, and he's alive. He's right there, and he's safe."

"That's... it's not the same. It won't ever be the same."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"It was... There was nothing I could do for him. I thought it didn't matter. Then he gave me the boy. And before that he gave me everything he had. And I just... it did matter. I should have stayed. I should have stayed with him until the end."

That raised more questions than it answered, and frankly it's a little alarming as well – who is _he_? A friend? Another lover? Inside the Institute?

"None of that is the boy's fault. He is... he is exactly what I wanted, what I thought I was fighting for, but when I look at him I just... "

They aren't getting anywhere with this.

Comforting Haylen was _easy_. She did most of it herself; all he had to do was stay still as she cried against his chest. That, he can do. He's not sure what Nathaniel wants from him, why he even came to him rather than to one of his friends who has more experience with this. Whatever _this_ is. But he's here now and looking at Danse for reassurance, so he has to do something.

After taking a few steps back he gets out of his power armor. It's always a bit disconcerting, standing on his own two feet without the added weight of the suit around him. Nathaniel watches him with a wary expression as he approaches, but allows him to draw close. Lets Danse wrap his arms around his middle. Lets himself be held.

This is only the second time he has Nathaniel in his arms, but it's nowhere near as nice as the first time. He keeps worrying his lover will say something he doesn't have an answer for, that he will do something unexpected.

Perhaps this is not for him. This is what he was hoping for, Nathaniel and his son right by his side, and yet it's even more difficult than he expected. Someone else, anyone else would be better suited for this. But even so –

"I'm glad you're here. Both of you."

He's not sure what's so funny about that, but it gets a laugh out of Nathaniel. A dark, mirthless laugh.

"Good. That's what I was hoping for. Otherwise there would've been no point."

It takes him a few moments, but eventually he relaxes against Danse's chest. He steels himself for a quip from Nathaniel about finally getting the hug he was promised, but it never comes. Instead a hand settles on his, so there must be something he's doing right.

For a few minutes they just stand there, then Nathaniel speaks.

"I could use some help. With... with Shaun, and everything. Think you're up for that?"

Danse holds his breath for a second. He has to make sure he got that right.

"You want us to raise him together?"

"Well, I... I guess so. We're a package deal now. What do you say?"

This is the moment. Now he must refuse, say that he's heading elsewhere, that he can't stay with them. Otherwise these two will get caught in the crossfire when the Brotherhood comes for him. He's been preparing himself for this moment.

"Yes. There's nothing I'd want more than that."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In my actual playthrough, I have a saved game where the Brotherhood tells Nathaniel to destroy the Railroad, the Railroad tells him to free synths from the Institute and shoot anyone who gets in his way, and the Institute sends him on a quest that will make him an enemy of the Brotherhood.
> 
> And that's exactly where he'll stay. Forever.
> 
> ...Why wouldn't Bethesda let me play house with my robot lover and my sixty-year old son?


End file.
